


As Many Problems As There Are Stars

by Kalyppso



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Fluff, Nonbinary Character, Other, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27184369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalyppso/pseuds/Kalyppso
Summary: A first kiss at camp.
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 59





	As Many Problems As There Are Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Étoile is my High Elf OC. [They have a tag on my blog.](https://omgkalyppso.tumblr.com/tagged/oc-tag%3A-%C3%A9toile)

The camp was cold, and the hour was late, and still Étoile was distracted by thought, their meditation offering no true rest as the moon travelled across the sky.

They were always gullible, and they knew this came from a secluded upbringing. Their mothers having instilled in them the value of taking people at their word, and treating them with dignity and respect, and this made it hard to manifest skepticism ... self-preservation ... duplicity.

Even so, they felt justified in assuming Astarion was being truthful of his past. His rage palpable at centuries of indignity. It was beyond imaging, and brought into question his every behaviour. How much of who he was, was learned? Was true to how he had grown or had always been? Or to how he wanted to be? Surely asking any of these questions would be inappropriate, contrary to Étoile’s intention, to take Astarion at his word. Whether this behaviour were his current mask or his truth, he’d done nothing to be treated without courtesy.

Étoile thought of his hands, cradling them just so as those fangs had sunk into them, and rolled their head back to either side of their shoulders. They wondered about their own autonomy, and if it were the same. Whether their brain worm was eating away at their thoughts, feeding ridiculous theories on vampiric desire to some unknown brain creature a plane away. Whether they were being influenced, drawn and distorted, to be thinking about him so.

“Astarion?”

“Yes?”

He turned at the sound of his name, teeth flashing in the firelight. His brow was slanted in the innocence that he seemed to sometimes let slip, intentionally or not, between the layers of pomp and decorum.

“I’m sorry,” Étoile said quickly. “I do not mean to interrupt your rest.”

Astarion brought a fist to the base of his chin, and then the back of two knuckles to the front of his lips, amused. He moved his hand aside to speak, swiping the front of his thumb across his chin as he looked away for a moment, indulging in fantasies of peace and freedom. “If only you were the worst of my problems.”

With a raise and lowering of their eyebrows, Étoile signaled their agreement, letting their gaze be drawn back to the fire so that they were not hounded by Astarion’s cheekbones, or smirk, or brutal, cutting garnet eyes.

“Well?” Astarion prompted, swiping two fingers across his forehead as if to dismiss a flyaway curl, perhaps a single strand that Étoile could not see, and they realized they were looking at him again, already abandoning the safety of distraction.

If Étoile was as bold, or confident, or provocative as their mind seemed to think they were, they might suggest,  _ ‘If I’ve lost my tongue, perhaps you might help me find it?’ _ But they were not. Not nearly by far.

“I find myself thinking of our problems,” Étoile conceded.

There were many things about Étoile which were extremely elven  — their patience, the way they took forever to reach their point in a conversation, their keen measure of attention  — but their insistence upon treating their little band as a group, a team, was not one of them.

_ ‘Our problems,’ _ Astarion was tempted to snort, the prospect that what they were going through was anything but personal, isolating and devastating, should have been a joke. Yet Étoile easily sold him on it, the idea that they were earnest, that they would fight a horde, a hunter, or a vampire lord for him out of a sense of camaraderie in shared-disaster. Was this sense misplaced? Astarion couldn’t guess, whether willingly or no, he could imagine himself easily cutting these ties Étoile sought to bind. All allies had limits in their usefulness, even friends, even family, even lovers.

He imagined Étoile’s need of connection came from their human mother, or perhaps a deep inherent loneliness that those with bleeding hearts often found themselves afflicted with. Few in Faerun felt sympathy the way Étoile seemed to, annoying at times, stopping to save or offer benefit to every poor soul they passed. Astarion might have assumed that these acts of charity could have been influenced by a desire for divine forgiveness or intervention in regards to the looming fate of doom brought on by the mindflayer worms, but knew better now, after time and conversation revealed Étoile for who they were.

Wrapping his hands around his knees, Astarion leaned back to empty air. “Any conclusions worth mentioning? I rather doubt I’m the best to offer comfort, if you’re simply finding yourself distraught with thoughts of oblivion.”

“You don’t need to offer words,” Étoile assured him, and this time Astarion did laugh, too tickled by his companion’s instinct to soothe him for being unable to assuage them, and with his lips still pulled back in a smile of disbelief, Étoile clarified their meaning. “May I sit with you?”

“Come then,” Astarion called, the humor still in his voice, as if it were a thing to be dismissed, and not a danger to the both of them, to be sharing a space with a relative stranger. He exaggerated, laying his hands over his heart, “Bring your head to my bosom that we might will away your fears.”

He watched Étoile rise to their feet, their mollified expression sending some sense of unjust contentment to the pit of his stomach. They were a hulking wall of muscle and honor, a gentle soul of fear and hope, and they were moving to sit behind him so they too could lean back against him, not knowing how this would touch him; lest the worms were more exacting than Astarion dared to worry.

“Thank you,” Étoile said, their voice a rumble in their chest that flitted through Astarion’s dead heart.

“Mm,” Astarion hummed. “If you feel  _ so indebted _ as to thank me, what would you do if I sought recompense?”

Étoile tilted their head, long hair tickling Astarion’s bare neck. “A bite?”

Astarion found himself smiling, so readily Étoile had taken to being a prospective source of strength and vigor.

“You really must be less diplomatic if you wish to suffer more frequently of blood loss,” he teased, and Étoile scoffed, an embarrassed and easy laugh that rattled the both of them with the force of it. “We faced a veritable army of enemies today,” Astarion went on, relaxed. “No, I’ve had my fill of blood for the evening … but as for my curiosity? That yet hungers.”

“Oh?” The genuine surprise Étoile had managed in a single syllable was almost insulting, and Astarion wondered whether he’d been too aloof the last time they spoke of personal histories. There had been times in Étoile’s stories of life before the worm where he hadn’t known how to react, and simply hadn’t, or had mocked from the safety of distance and indifference, but he had found himself endeared and fascinated, even before their adventures, Étoile was interesting … alluring. What they lacked in charm, they seemed to substitute with their earnest heart, and the drive to secure the strength they needed to achieve their goals. This must have tempted others, before.

“What would you ask of me?” Étoile prompted, a blush upon their cheeks, worried about how the length of their tales had gotten away from them the last time they and Astarion had spoken.

“Tell me,” Astarion suggested, haltingly, “my dear, of the last lover you left behind?”

A sigh escaped Étoile, a noise of sorrow and regret. Astarion licked his lips, wondering whether, to this, Étoile might object, the prospect of having found a favor beyond their desire to balance every perceived responsibility just as satisfying as receiving an answer.

Goading them, he rolled his shoulders against the expanse of their back. “Surely there must have been someone? More than one? A string of broken hearts behind you?”

“A woman,” Étoile answered quickly, and Astarion blinked in surprise, staring, empty, into the distant forest, ears perked to attention. “A human woman.” They swallowed, nervous and mournful, but when they spoke again their tone was bitter, “It was less disappointing than my first tryst, but still she… Her interest didn’t extend beyond closed doors.”

Astarion’s expression twisted in scorn, having expected something more akin to the joy of youth or a gentle heartbreak. “More's the pity.”

“It was her first time with…”

As Étoile considered their phrasing, Astarion opted to offer a suggestion to ease their tension on the subject. “An elf?”

Étoile chuckled. “That too.”

Astarion pressed his tongue to the back of his teeth, smiling about their circumstance. He hearkened them back to the present. “And I say again: Would that you were the worst of my problems.”

When Astarion felt Étoile begin to turn, it was faster than instinct to spin around onto his heel, facing them before they were anywhere close to looking over their shoulder.

Long, tortuous seconds provided the opportunity to pull away, but Astarion found himself still, except the way he heaved with each breath, except for how his heart beat like a man alive … as if it remembered infatuation beyond servitude, desire beyond subjugation.

Étoile smiled at him, and Astarion felt that he could sink into the earth in shame.  _ ‘Bury me now, for I have seen all that creation has to offer, and the Hells are a mercy when compared to the loss of this moment. You will hate me come morning, and so will I.’ _

“I could be…” Étoile began to suggest, and Astarion huffed in amusement.

“Be a problem?” Astarion chuckled, resting one hand on his thigh to keep balance, and reaching out with his right to rest against Étoile’s collarbone. “Try as you might…” he mocked.

Their first kiss was slower than expected, Étoile twitching throughout the whole of it, as they considered jolting away, afraid they’d overstepped, afraid they’d misinterpret—

“Try harder,” Astarion whispered, allowing his plea to be covered in the grandeur of desire.

Astarion’s eyes were dark with the threat of promise, and whether by supernatural thrall or the splendor of seduction, Étoile only knew they were obliged to try again, and again, and again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'd love a kudos or comment, especially if you're a guest.


End file.
